Original Sin
by tempus terere
Summary: In Team Rocket there is a saying. It goes, "What is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh." — SilverGold, Mafia!AU
1. The Hatcher

**Setting: **Mafia!AU, characters are from the manga**  
Notes:** I am already regretting this, so, so much. For all of you who are not familiar with my posting schedules and terrible judgement: please don't expect regular updates, or you will be utterly disappointed.  
**Notes 2:** I'm surprised nobody did this before, though. Fandom, you should seize such an opportunity!  
**Dedicated to:** Lisa because she used to kiss me.

* * *

In Team Rocket there is a saying. It goes, "What is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh."

Silver thinks this might be the only truthful thing the organization has ever taught him as he enters the outskirts of Viridian City after his third pokémon journey.

x

Two days later Giovanni dies in a shooting.

x

These are the facts: Giovanni is dead. Team Rocket needs a new boss. Silver is Giovanni's offspring, and as such, his future offers no other prospects than to follow his father's footsteps as the leader of one of the largest syndicates in the pokémon mafia.

x

Silver breathes in sharply and watches the casket disappear in a wave of white lilies.

(What is bred in the bone will not go out of the flesh.)

He is only nineteen.

x

In line to stereotypes, Giovanni's office is on the grim side of elegant, complete with broad leather armchairs and perpetually shut window blinds to keep the room in a continuing state of Godfather-esque semi-darkness.

Silver settles down in his father's old seat and rests his hands on the smooth mahogany desk. The contrast between his white fingers and the dark wood makes the back of his eyes burn.

In his peripheral vision, one of the team's four executives begins to move. Silver looks up. Archer is standing at the other side of the table, pushing his lips into a wiry smile.

"I'm sorry to interrupt you in your time of grieving," he says solemnly. There is a loose thread on the left sleeve of his uniform. Silver has to fight the compulsive urge to pull at it. "Now that the great Giovanni has passed—may his soul _forever_ rest in peace—someone else must take his place."

"I know," Silver says. He is familiar with the rules. Survival of the Fittest, no time to worry about the past and all that.

"Indeed", says Archer, his smile stretching even wider. "Then I'm sure you also know that Team Rocket tradition expects the candidate for leading position to fulfill a mission on their own as initiation?"

Silver squares his shoulders, which has to look ridiculous in the massive frame of his father's chair. "I know," he says again.

x

In Viridian's pulsing hipster heart, The Hatcher nestles in between coffee shops and narrow apartment buildings, fashionably outdated and probably a little pretentious like the city itself. Gold remembers discovering the place a few years back and instantly falling in love with its ridiculously cliché Kanto pub atmosphere, all brick walls and distorting sepia windows. Originally, he'd only been passing through with the plan to challenge the local gym leader and chase one or two skirts before moving on, but ended up staying as the apprentice of the former bar owner (who died recently in questionable circumstances involving green hair dye and slowpoke tails, rendering Gold the new proprietor of the establishment).

He's not that surprised when, on a chilly September afternoon, some barely legal redhead steps inside, intense-eyed and edgy-looking to the point of being fascinating to Gold.

"Yo," he says by way of greeting, putting on his best salesman smile. "Wanna be my new barmaid? My old one ran out on me last week and you've got just the right—"

"Are you serious?" The redhead looks at him as though he can't believe this is happening to him. Gold can relate.

"Only if you want me to be, Little Red," he says after a second of silent wonder and blows the boy a kiss, for good measure.

Short, Dark and Redheaded scowls, and it's all Gold can do not to break into a manic grin.

"_You're_ the one they were talking about? Who purportedly is spoiling all our trades?"

It takes Gold a moment to process the questions' implications, and then the redhead's identity unfolds before him like a fast-forwarded jigsaw puzzle, all the pieces snapping into place.

"So you're from Team Rocket, huh?" Peering more closely at the guy, broody and wrought-up, he can't help questioning the organization's recruiting program a little. "And what's that supposed to mean, 'purportedly'? Of course I'm spoiling all your trades. In international pokémon organ trafficking ranks, you're maybe in 20th place. It's not exactly your strong point."

At that the redhead makes a bitchy face and says, "There is no such thing as, 'international pokémon organ trafficking ranks.'"

"So I made that up," Gold says, shrugging ornately. "Your goods are still nothing short of pure golden crap."

Then, to Gold's surprise, the boy scoffs, "We're the mafia. What do you want us to do, give a money-back guarantee in case someone's not satisfied?"

_Well, how about _that, Gold thinks distractedly and smirks, "Why don't you just let me take over that branch while you focus on something you're actually good at? Like losing your leading figures for example?"

The Rocket's face almost reflexively twists into something contorted and sharp, all bickering instantly forgotten. "You just _love_ to hear yourself talk, don't you?" he snarls. "Well, have I got some news for you. Not everyone is a fan of your oh so clever jokes, _Gold_."

After everything so far, that he knows Gold's name is only a minor shock. If they've found out he's stealing their customers, it seems rather consequential.

"At least I have more manners than you," Gold sniffs dramatically. "Knowing the other's name without introducing yourself is the apex of impoliteness, you know. Didn't your mother teach you better than that?"

"My mother is dead."

Gold blinks. The boy looks like he's nearly as perplexed that he's telling Gold this as Gold himself.

"That's rough," he agrees. "Won't make me withdraw from trade, though."

"You think you can really meddle with Team Rocket's business just like that?" The redhead looks hilariously furious.

"Honestly?" Gold says, enjoying this way more than he should. "Yeah, I do."

"I'll put an end to this," the Rocket declares, anger flashing into sullen confidence.

"Oh yeah?" Gold shakes his head in amusement because this is about as absurd as it gets. (Also, that _kid_ wants to stop him? Ridiculous.) "What are you gonna do, glare me to death?"

"Fuck you," the boy spits and pulls out a poké ball.

"A pokémon battle? Seriously?" Gold sighs, disappointed. "You're kind of bad at this, aren't you?"

The redhead pauses, suddenly unsure, like this isn't something he's never thought himself. "What do you mean?"

"This isn't a game. We are both actual criminals. Well, at least I am. So yeah, I'm not going to strike out at you with a pokémon. I have guns for that." The redhead looks thoroughly unimpressed. Gold groans. "No, you don't understand. By 'guns' I don't mean like, revolvers. I'm not stupid. I'm talking rocket launchers here. Bazookas. Your team would be down in an instant. Probably even dead. You don't look like someone who wants that."

The boy makes grimaces, lowering the hand with the poké ball in it.

Gold smiles and almost feels a little bad for him. Almost. "Arceus, who was in charge of your training? Are you even a real Rocket?"

The boy looks like he's ready to hiss at him any moment now, like a cornered skitty or something. It's actually kind of cute. You know, in a deranged, ludicrous sort of way.

"So," Gold says, propping his elbows on the bar counter. "What's your name?"

The redhead goes still, like a spring about to uncoil. "I'm not telling you."

"Too bad then," Gold says good-naturedly. "Is that all? Do you want a drink maybe, before you run home to daddy? Or is he dead, too?"

The kid's nose scrunches up in disgust or newly rekindled rage; Gold isn't sure.

"Yes."

Awkward.

"Oh, um, sorry for your loss?" Gold tries half-heartedly.

The boy turns toward the door. "Someone has to be," he says, and then he's gone.

Talk about dramatic exits.

x

Silver takes a room in a hotel not too far from the bar, wannabe-posh and trying a bit too hard but with agreeable prices. He contemplated going to the nearest pokémon center and immediately reconsidered, deciding that the risk of being discovered as part of the mafia would be too high, in light of its distinct lack of privacy in comparison.

Sitting down on the small bed, he evaluates his situation. There are two possibilities: accept defeat and resign from his job, leaving Archer and his goons at the top of the organization, or go back to The Hatcher and get rid of Gold, who is not only more experienced than him but also annoying as all get-out, apparently.

Silver slumps back onto the mattress and closes his eyes.

(What is bred in the bone…)

He has already stacked up too much disappointment on his shoulders to fail again.

x

"I had a feeling you'd be back," Gold says happily as the redhead walks through the door the next day, determined and inexplicably tired.

"I want to hire you," he says, without preamble, and Gold has to admit he is somewhat taken aback by this turn of events.

"Huh?" he says intelligently.

"I weighed my options," the redhead answers matter-of-factly. "Confronting you openly would end in a disaster for me—for obvious reasons. Killing you in your sleep appears more likely to be successful, though I highly doubt that you go to bed without protection, which leaves me at a point where I can only go back to the headquarters and report my failure or hire you so you are no longer in our way."

Yeah, Gold isn't buying it. He knew something was off when he saw the guy's staggering shortcomings in criminal knowledge yesterday, but this, this is _a whole new world _of stupidity. For example, why is he doing this alone? Anyone halfway sane would get help, along with one or two Kalashnikovs, and nuke the place. The kid doesn't look dumb enough not to think of that, so what's his deal?

"You're not very good at lying," Gold says, gleefully watching the boy's poise deflate on the spot.

"I'm not lying," the redhead says defensively. "I do want to hire you."

Gold raises an eyebrow. "You really give up that easily?"

The redhead's face turns bitter, and he says, "Believe me, I am doing everything but."

Okay, this conversation has officially stopped making any sense.

"You are full of shit," Gold says pointedly. (There is a joke in there, somewhere.) "And that is why I am now kicking you out. Come back when you've laid off the cryptic one-liners. So, get lost, scoot, shoo."

"Who are you talking to?"

Gold whips around to see Crystal emerging from behind the bar.

"Uh, remember the Rocket I mentioned earlier? That's him."

A ghost of remembrance skirrs over her face. "Is he still trying to drive you out of business?"

Gold looks back at the redhead, who is glowering at both of them. "Not exactly. He wants me to join the team."

Crystal snorts. "Good luck with that, kid," she says and disappears again, clearly deeming herself above such trivial matters.

"You do have a barmaid," the boy accuses when she's gone.

Gold stares at him blankly before bursting into a fit of violent laughter. "Mew," he pants in between giggles. "You are killing me, Little Red."

"I wish," mutters Little Red darkly, which just makes Gold crack up harder until he's practically rolling on the floor. Once he's calmed down, he realizes that the boy has left. Just as well. He'll probably be back tomorrow with another fantastically idiotic plan, anyway.

x

Silver wakes up that night to faint scratching noises just from the other side of the door.

Gripping the poké balls beneath his pillow, he listens to what sounds like someone trying to break into his room as quietly as possible. His heart starts hammering against his ribcage. He suspected something like this might happen, but he didn't expect it so soon.

He takes in a deep breath and slips out of bed. From the nightstand he grabs his backpack, shoves all of his poké balls inside except the one in his hand as well as a pair of jeans, and slings it over his shoulder. Behind him the grating is getting louder. Hastily he fumbles the window open, and a gust of piercing cold hits his face. Suppressing a cough, he climbs onto the windowsill and releases his honchkrow.

"We need to get away from here," he whispers frantically. Across the room something cracks. "_Now_."

He hops onto the pokémon, glancing back to see Archer and a few grunts storming toward the open window as he takes off into the stinging night air.

x

At three o'clock in the morning, a hammering sound rips Gold from his sleep. Bolting upright, he watches with bleary eyes something vaguely human-shaped knocking on his window. He briefly ponders the statistic likelihood of successfully ignoring…whatever is happening until it goes away, sighs and shuffles out of bed to open the window.

"Hide me," hisses the person beyond.

It's the redhead.

Gold stares.

"_Hurry_," the boy insists, eyes worryingly huge. His hair has been tousled by the wind, and his cheeks look redder than before. He's panting.

"What the fuck," Gold says.

"I promise I'll explain if you let me inside," the redhead says, rushed—almost panicking, _and wow, this is seriously weird_.

"Okay," Gold says warily but guesses if this turns out to be some kind of trick, he can always shoot the kid. He doesn't wear XXL-boxers for nothing.

He closes the window and flops down on his bed, the mattress groaning in slight protest. The boy stands in the middle of the room, still and tense, as though he's waiting for something huge and conclusive to strike, like some fucked-up, divine verdict, which, hello, drama much?

"So," Gold says. "I'm waiting."

"I need your help," the boy finally bites out, and Gold belatedly realizes that he's barefoot and dressed way too lightly for the occasion.

He clears his throat. "Yeah, not that I'm surprised that you need help—no offense, though you didn't exactly impress me with your planning skills—, but a tad more information on this general situation would be _smashing_."

The redhead looks down. "You know that Giovanni—Team Rocket's boss—died, right?" Gold nods, wondering what this has to do with anything. "I'm his heir."

Gold chokes.

The boy clenches his fists.

The moment stretches.

"Heir?" Gold croaks eventually. "Like, uh, like his _son_?"

"_No, like his cactus_," the boy snaps and clicks his tongue, exasperated.

Gold would have laughed at this abrupt and truly unversed attempt at snark, but he's seen the haunted look in the boy's eyes, and he's not _that_ much of an asshole, not really.

"Watch your temper, Little Red, _you_'re the one asking _me_ for help," he warns because frankly, he doesn't do soothing. They're both professional felons, and besides, he still isn't convinced the guy's story is genuine.

"My name is Silver," the boy retorts but relaxes his stance to a marginally more casual approach. "Not 'Little Red.'"

Now Gold does laugh. "Arceus, this is like something out of a bad movie. Or some kind of cosmic joke."

Silver's expression tightens. "I don't see how this is at all funny."

"Come on, me—the sassy, independent womanizer—and you—the angsty mafia prince, coming through my window in the middle of the night and begging me for help? Add the horribly cliché opposite trope of our names and tell me this is not a cheesy, borderline homoerotic adventure novel waiting to happen."

Silver gapes as though he can't decide what part of Gold's speech to be offended at most. "I did not beg," he barks. "And if you're not going to take this seriously, I'm leaving."

Fighting off another onslaught of laughter, Gold straightens himself and says, "Well, then. Get to the point already, so I can laugh at you some more and go back to bed."

"I would maul you just for that comment if I had anywhere else to turn to," Silver says, which is, all in all, a pretty dumb move because now that Gold is aware of how desperate he is, he could basically milk him for millions in return. Not that he's going to. Going for easy prey like that would be a disgrace to his reputation as a gentleman. Also, the kid is probably the most endearing brand of pathetic he's ever come across.


	2. The Catcher

**Notes:** I hope nobody is expecting anything grand from me at this point. I mean, when was the last time I wrote something that had an actual plot? Still, feel free to pelt me with rocks as you see fit.  
**Notes 2:** With any luck I'll be able to wrap this up before Christmas, but don't hold your breath.

* * *

"So, what's gotten your poké balls in such disarray?"

Silver squints at him in confusion. "What?"

Gold shakes his head, snickering, because _this guy_, seriously.

"_I mean_," he enunciates carefully. "What happened to you? Why are you so distraught?"

Silver tautens instinctively, and he says, "I'm not distraught."

"Okay, we need to talk," Gold says, pinching the bridge of his nose. "You probably think all this defensiveness and austerity is super cute or something, but let me tell you, it's getting kind of old, and I've only met you like two days ago."

"I have no idea what you're talking about," Silver says, looking at Gold as though _he's_ the crazy person.

"_Ugh_," Gold groans, nerves shot. (He would have chosen a more eloquent manner of retaliation had it not been half past three in the morning.) "Just. Tell me what's going on."

Silver inhales deeply, and his face becomes very dramatic. Gold half-expects violins to start playing.

"There's this—" He stops and his eyes go big like he's just now figured out how insane this whole setup is. He bites his lip and soldiers on, anyway. "In Team Rocket there's this rule: the successor of the organization has to complete a job on their own, or they can't become the leader. Kind of like an initiation rite—"

"I'm your job," Gold cuts him off, and suddenly all of this makes a lot more sense.

"Yes," Silver affirms. "But it's only that easy in theory. With every new generation, there is always someone who's trying to revolt and become the boss themselves."

"So what, some thugs signed me up as your initiation mission, figuring you'd fuck up, which you did so far, by the way, but when you refused to go back and admit to your loss, they sent an assassination squad to putsch you out of their way?" Credit where credit is due, Gold does not laugh. Much. In his defense, this is some serious Law & Order bullshit right there.

Silver works his jaw. "Are you going to help me or not?" he asks impatiently.

Gold huffs. "What am I supposed to do? Break into the team's HQ and snipe everyone who opposes you? I'm not a superhero, Silver. I'm not even an anti-hero. I'm not a hero at all. I just do what I have to in order to survive."

"Fine," says Silver, oddly calm. "If you help me, I'll leave you and your trades alone, and you can do whatever you want. Deal?"

Gold's face lights up like the local strip club had just extended its business to 24 hours a day. "You _do_ know how to bargain," he marvels, just a tiny bit condescending. "Too bad the costs still outweigh the reward. I'd risk my life helping you go against Team Rocket's executives. If you want to bait me, you have to do a little better than that."

It's then something in Silver snaps.

"Why is everything a fucking game to you? Do you get off on playing with people and getting them to do what you want? Is that it?"

Gold sighs. "Are we really doing this black and white crap? Because I've about had it with your judgment of my life choices. As much as I sympathize with you, I can't save every damsel in distress that walks into my bar, especially when saving them puts me in mortal danger." As an afterthought, "Don't tell me you wouldn't do the same if the situation were reversed."

Silver looks like he just took a punch to the gut. "What do you want?" he says then, voice tight.

Gold hesitates. No matter if the kid's lying or not, his despair is real. "_Lugia_, you really have no idea what you're doing, do you?"

"How should I?" Silver shouts, loud and hoarse. "I come back from Johto, and suddenly my father gets shot, and everyone wants me dead. So no, I don't know what I'm doing."

It's a veritable feat to make Gold feel like an absolute dick within 30 seconds, but Silver's got it down to an art. (Crystal would laugh her ass off about it, Gold thinks absentmindedly.)

"You've never done this before?" he says, hesitant. "No raids, no smuggling, no mugging? Nothing?"

Silver makes a face that would scare a gengar to death. "I was a pokémon trainer," he explains frostily.

"Oh", breathes Gold, and that's all either of them say for a while.

While Silver appears to be perfecting his Glare of Doom, Gold wrecks his brain figuring out what to do next. Because he has to do _something_. Silver has robbed him of any opportunity to bullshit himself out of this. Another skill Crystal would probably find hysterical.

"I guess I can help you," he settles on saying, attempting to sound casually haughty.

"Good," Silver says.

"Because I pity you," Gold adds.

"Okay," Silver says.

"Also I want money."

Silver rolls his eyes. "Whatever."

"And protection from rivaling groups."

"Don't push it," Silver threatens, but it lacks pathos. Gold glances at the clock. It's a quarter to four.

"Let's go to bed," he proposes, bends forward and stretches lazily. "We can discuss the details tomorrow."

Silver scrutinizes him. "Do you mean it?" he asks.

Gold wonders about that, too. "Sure," he replies easily, but the intensity of Silver's eyes strangles the syllables a little.

Appeased, Silver's posture loosens a bit. Without the scowl and worry carved into his face, he looks startlingly young. Gold thinks about how it must be to completely change who you are like this, from one second to the next. What kind of person Silver was before his heritage had forced him into this game of death, lies and horribly designed uniforms. How he would have reacted if he'd met Gold then and not now.

"Do you have a couch?"

"What?" says Gold, dazed. "Oh, uh, of course. Do you… I—I'll get you a blanket."

Silver watches quizzically as Gold hurries out of the room.

x

"You're keeping him?" Crystal's voice is shrill with incredulity. To her credit, this whole thing _is_ kind of crazy. Not to mention retarded and dangerous as hell.

"He's not my pet," Gold protests weakly.

Crystal looks at him doubtfully. "Why are you doing this then?"

"I—" Gold licks his lips. "I'm sort of out of options."

"So you fucked him," Crystal concludes and starts cackling. "Does he think you're _boyfriends_ now?"

"What," Gold chokes and clears his throat. "No. No, I did not fuck him. Why would I do that?"

Crystal gives him a flat look, not even bothering to dignify that with a response.

Gold scoffs. "Have you looked at him? He's like this giant jumble of neuroses, angst and ridiculous hair. He's not even remotely within my sphere of interest."

"Oh my Arceus," Crystal says, grinning manically. "You like him."

And then everything goes to shit _because she's right_.

x

Okay, so. Maybe he can sweat this out, like a really bad, preposterous fever. He'll screw Silver, get the whole thing out of his system and move on. After all, Silver is just some scrawny, angry teenager with a stupidly tragic backstory and terrible judgment and an intoxicating disposition to push all of Gold's buttons (the wrong and the right ones), and oh dear Lugia, _Gold is so fucked_.

x

Approximately one hour after the emergence of Gold's emotional crisis, Silver, the involuntary (and unknowing) initiator of said crisis, enters the kitchen where Gold is currently trying his best not to imagine all the things he'd like to do to Silver's sleep-soft face.

"Coffee?" Silver mumbles, bleary-eyed.

Grateful for the distraction, Gold gets up to brew him a cup. "Sleep well?" he asks as he reaches into the top drawer for one of the better mugs.

"Grngnh," Silver says and slumps down on the nearest chair.

Well, apparently there is _one_ thing they have in common.

x

"What are we going to do now? Any big plans?" Gold says at Silver's second helping of the lifesaving liquid.

Silver's expression hardens. (Gold is tempted to dub it his war face.) "We have no choice but to make the next move and attack before Archer finds out where I am."

"Attack?" Gold repeats. "_Directly_? Are you actually retarded?"

Silver shoots him a sour look, and that really shouldn't be as hot as it is. "Do you have a better idea, Mr. Criminal Mastermind?"

"Isn't there a way to get to Archer _without_ throwing ourselves at hundreds of well-armed, hostile Rockets?" Gold retorts, deadpan, rolling his eyes at the way Silver's mouth snaps into a tight line.

"We would need uniforms and IDs to disguise ourselves and get inside the HQ," Silver answers icily, trying to gloss over his wounded pride with extra contempt.

Gold leans back in his chair, unimpressed. "I'll ask Crystal to take care of that later. In the meantime, you can draw me a rough plan of the building."

"Crystal?" Silver asks, skeptic. "I thought she was just the barmaid."

Gold laughs, ruffles Silver's hair, mostly to placate his obscene, nagging need to touch him, and uses the ensuing tirade to steal the rest of Silver's coffee.

x

The two spend the remainder of the day crouching over a large scroll of paper on which Silver reconstructs most of his knowledge about the HQ. At one point around noon, Crystal pops in to see what they're doing and receives the task to find uniforms and IDs for their mission, which she grudgingly—and with a few jabs at Gold's exceptional incompetence and laziness—accepts.

It's nearly dusk when Silver is finished mapping all the secret passages and mechanisms that, Gold is convinced, Giovanni probably only installed to fuck with his subordinates.

"Wow," he says breathily, staring at their handiwork. "This thing is kind of a bitch."

"You don't say," Silver chuckles. It's an earthy, melodic sound that Gold wants to lock away to a place where only he can listen to it. This thought doesn't startle him as much as he would be comfortable with.

"Hey," he says haphazardly, voice strangled. "How about dinner? I'm starving."

"Good idea," Silver says eagerly, and Gold takes the chance and makes a beeline for the kitchen, almost knocking over one of Crystal's numerous pictures of her and her pokémon.

Silver yells after him, but the words parse as garbled nonsense through the blood pounding in Gold's ears.

x

Crystal isn't back by the time Gold has successfully managed to fix something with the scarce leftovers that have survived his rogue appetite and Crystal's midnight raids, so he doesn't bother to set the proper dining table. As much as he wants to bend Silver over it, the prospect of that actually happening is too low to go through the effort. Thus, he lays the necessities on the kitchen table and calls for Silver, who's been holed up in the living room, making faces at the floor.

Dinner is a quiet affair as Gold is basically hiding in his plate and Silver is purposefully ignoring Gold's very existence.

Maybe he shouldn't have run off like that, Gold muses later while gathering the dishes. Still in thought, he turns around to put the pile into the dishwasher, promptly bumping into Silver, and drops everything. He curses and perches down to clean up the mess. He doesn't register that Silver has done the same until their hands touch, trying to pick up the same piece of dirty porcelain. Gold flinches and pulls away. Silver's hand was warm and paradoxically familiar, not at all how he expected it to be.

"What the hell is your problem," Silver yells then, gaze glued to Gold's hand. "Why are you suddenly acting like I have the plague?"

In that moment Crystal bursts into the room, from the shoulder downward covered in blood.


End file.
